


Until We Say Goodnight

by mewties (icantbelieveitsnotmeulin)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Reunions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-07-26 14:19:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7577374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantbelieveitsnotmeulin/pseuds/mewties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen's stuck going to spend a week with his siblings, which wouldn't be much of a problem...if they didn't think he was seeing someone. Now he's scrambling to figure out how to keep them from finding out the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Predicaments

    Cullen looked at the red block in the center of his next month’s schedule. “APPROVED TIME OFF” was stamped in big letters across each individual day, burning into his eyes, almost taunting him. For most, the promise of a week off from work would be a blessing. For Cullen, it was a point of outright contention.

    He had figured, initially, that there was no chance his request would actually get granted. He did everything in his power to try and prevent it, in fact. He’d requested for eight consecutive days away from the office, all paid time. It seemed sufficiently demanding and absurd that he was almost sure his request would be denied. People got their time off requests rejected all the time, right?

    But no. Those red boxes stared him in the face, consuming his field of vision. Perhaps they were a mistake, he told himself! Yes, surely they were-

    There was a note left by his supervisor along with the approval of the request. “Enjoy your time, Rutherford. You work too much, you deserve it!” Okay, not a mistake. He inhaled slowly in an attempt to center himself. He had to start coming to terms with what this meant, as it looked like there was no longer any escaping it. Cullen now had absolutely no excuse to avoid visiting his family. Visiting them, in itself, was not a terrible thing. The only reason it filled him now with a sense of dread was from an exasperated slip of his own tongue, a lie that had now snowballed far out of his control. In reality, Cullen Rutherford, 30 years old and a smidge too tall, was a seemingly eternal bachelor. But he’d told Mia once (upon hearing her concerns for the umpteenth time), that he **_was_** seeing someone. This was months ago. He had yet to end the lie. Mia said she and the other siblings were excited to finally meet the lucky girl.

    Cullen very much did not want to go home.

    He worked in a bit of a daze. His mind was elsewhere, not on the reports crossing his inbox, but on the trip. Anything but the elephant in the room. He started mentally packing, identifying what he’d need for the trip, how he could get everything into the smallest amount of bags possible. The four of them would be staying at Mia’s house, and she lived a good distance away from him. Taking a train there would likely be more efficient, but he would have to rent a car if he wanted to get around locally on his own. He’d need to check what would be more cost-effective. Should he bring anything for swimming? It was only May, but sometimes Branson or Rosalie would whine and they’d end up in the water anyway. Including trunks was likely the safer bet.

    He continued like this, mindlessly working while mentally planning and preparing, until his phone buzzed loudly. He jumped in his seat, hastily fishing it out of his pocket. A new text message. He didn’t even look at the sender as he unlocked it, thumb swiping through his lock pattern with smooth precision. The message came from his friend and colleague, the very person who pushed him to apply here, Cassandra Pentaghast.

_‘I will be going for lunch soon. I will meet you there._ ’ Cullen chuckled quietly to himself. Her manner of texting was short and rigid, uncomfortable as she was with these sorts of interactions. Cassandra did better when she was face-to-face with someone. Cullen began minimizing windows and locking the computer with one hand as he typed his reply with the other.

_‘I had lost track of time, thank you for reminding me. I will join you shortly.’_ Around him, he heard others starting to gather their things or ask around for take-out orders. With the computer locked and his desk straightened, Cullen stood, sticking his phone back in his pocket, and made his way downstairs.

    The café on the first floor was a bit overpriced, but their sandwiches were okay and it was never too crowded. Going anywhere else to sit down was a constant gamble, where you went back to work hungry if you lost. So the two of them settled for meeting up here, eating mediocre food and talking about the events of their day. Having someone he was familiar with here was comforting to Cullen. He wasn’t terribly outgoing by nature, not when it came to making friends. He was good at observing, at instructing, but he didn’t build interpersonal relationships well without help. He barely said anything beyond basic pleasantries to his officemates in his first few months there. He’d gone out with them after work two or three times in the year or so he’d been there, and he never took initiative with it. He had one co-worker’s number in his phone besides his boss, and that was because said person had been drunk and very pushy and Cullen gave up on saying no, figuring it couldn’t do much harm. All he’d gotten was a text asking how bad the parking lot was after a particularly bad storm.

    That made even seeing Cassandra’s face so much better. She spotted him from across the atrium and raised a hand in greeting. He did the same, quickening his step. He’d known her for five months before coming here, back when things for him hadn’t been as stable as they’d become. She was a steady source of support. She knew when to push, and when to leave things go. Cassandra understood how he worked, especially when he was too stressed and could only grasp at the solutions to his problems, and he fully intended to make use of that today.

    He slid into the café chair in a hurry, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. He’d have to go up to the counter to order, but he felt the need to stop by the table first today. Cassandra watched him, raising an eyebrow.

    “Something the matter?” She asked. Cassandra couldn’t read everyone, but she could read Cullen well enough that she could tell from his tense movements something was bothering him.

    Cullen sighed. “You recall Mia invited myself and our other siblings to her home in two weeks?” Cassandra nodded. “I have been granted my time off request. Now that I lack a solid excuse, I practically have no _choice_ but to go!”

    Cassandra stiffened, her voice cold. “How inconvenient it must be, having to spend time with your siblings.” Cullen shrank; Cassandra had lost her brother before she even turned thirteen. He tried to backpedal.

    “Cassandra, I’m sorry, it’s just…” His arm touched something solid and he glanced down to see a sandwich wrapped in plastic already sitting on a plate.

    “I already ordered your usual,” Cassandra stated, some of her rigidity dissipating.

    “Thank you,” he replied. “I owe you for next time.” He began peeling the layers of plastic wrap off the turkey club. Cassandra watched him for a moment, waiting for him to continue.

    “It’s not visiting them that’s the problem, it’s…” He sighed, putting the freed wrapping down on the plate. “It’s the fact that I’m _supposed_ to have company.”

    “Ah yes, your little lie.” She took a small sip of her tea – Lady Grey, usually, because she liked the orange – and folded her hands, looking at him. “What do you intend to do about it?”

    Cullen swallowed the bite of sandwich he’d taken and sighed, leaning over the table. “Honestly, I don’t quite know.”

    She let out a short chuckle. “And I suppose you want my help?”

    “It would be greatly appreciated.” There was a slight strain to Cullen’s voice that implored in ways his words didn’t. He waited for her answer as she had another spoonful of her soup – minestrone today, from the looks of it.

    She set the spoon down, exhaling slowly. She was still bothered by his earlier comment, but it wouldn’t stop her from trying to give him some sort of advice. Cullen reminded himself to apologize again at the end of their lunch. “I suppose I can try,” she said eventually, “but I must ask the most obvious question first. Why have you not simply told them the truth?”

    Cullen sighed again, shifting uncomfortably. “I think the truth would cause more trouble than it’s worth,” he admitted. “Not only would they be disappointed…” He glanced out the windows at the front of the building. “…I think believing this, that I have two parts of my life held down, eases their worries about me.” He tugged absently at the cuff of one of his sleeves.

    “…I see.” She allowed a pregnant pause. “Then, instead of the truth, what if you simply told them you broke up?”

    Cullen snorted. “Please! If I told my siblings we broke up at this point, they’d have me smothered in blankets and trying to coddle me the whole week! It would be utterly unbearable.” He scrunched his nose in disgust. Cassandra groaned.

    “You are being too unreasonable, Cullen!”

    “That’s what you think. You’ve barely spent any time with them.” Cassandra had met Mia and Branson both briefly; _Very_ briefly, considering the situation at the time. His siblings knew of everything she’d done for him, but they barely knew her besides what he told them, and vice versa. “Look, my point is, telling them it’s over is almost as bad as telling the truth.” Cassandra made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a “harrumph.”

    “Fine. Then what do you propose?” There was a hint of exasperation to her tone as she grabbed her spoon again. Cullen mulled it over. He knew what _**wasn’t**_ an option, but the solutions he came up with seemed implausible.

    “Nothing feasible comes to mind,” he admitted, taking another bite of sandwich. He moved it to one side of his mouth so he could speak while he chewed. “There’s a very small likelihood I’d meet someone within the next two weeks, and even if I did, I’d be immediately asking them to lie for me.” He paused to swallow, gesturing towards Cassandra with his sandwich. “And it’s not as if there’s a service for this sort of thing…not that I’d be comfortable with it, anyway.” He was aware escorts were a thing, but that would be odd to him. And undoubtedly expensive.

    “Hmm.” Cassandra let the air hang between them as she thought. He watched her spoon scrape around the cup as she got the remains of her minestrone from its recesses. Cullen tried wolfing down a bit more of his sandwich. Their time had begun to grow short.

    “Alright,” she said finally. “What if you put those ideas together?”

    “Pardon?”

    She mulled over how to phrase it. “What about asking someone you know to pretend to be your partner for the week. You can always tell your family you broke up sometime after, to avoid their…comfort techniques.” It took a second for the idea to fully connect in Cullen’s mind, but his face lit up as it did. She was right – as long as he could find someone who could play against him convincingly, it would be foolproof! But it had to be someone he was comfortable enough with, understood well enough, et cetera, in order for it to work. He met Cassandra’s gaze again, slowly raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

    “No.” Her rejection was stalwart and immediate.

    “Cassandra, please,” he pleaded. “I don’t know anyone else this could work with!”

    “Don’t you have other friends?” She asked, a little annoyed. He avoided her gaze. She made an exasperated sound. “It doesn’t matter, I still refuse.” He frowned. “It will only make things more complicated,” she elaborated. “They already know of me, and my relationship to you. I would hate for that to become muddled in this mess.” Cullen paused, knowing she was right. While using Cassandra as his partner would make the act easier for him, in the long run, it would be far worse. As much as he hated to admit it in the current moment.

    “You’re right, I apologize.” There was a clatter around them as people began to get up, ready to go back to work upstairs. The two of them did the same. “But I don’t know anyone else I could do this with.” She considered this while they brought their dishes up.

    “Alright. In that case, I will try and find someone suitable for this. In the meantime, try to relax.” She smiled gently, and he felt a little better. “And try to think of someone else. Just in case.” Cullen nodded, but he already knew his social circle was more of a social line.

    The two of them said brief goodbyes before heading back to their respective floors. Cullen sat back at his desk with a slightly clearer mind. For right now, trying to come up with other moves was pointless. There was a gambit in front of him that could work. He would just wait to see if Cassandra could find someone fit for the part. If all else failed, then he could think of something else. Doing so now would only stress him out further, and chanced being pointless. Sometimes, the best plan was to wait to see if your current options panned out.

    He silently prayed Cassandra would be successful.


	2. Decompression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen waits to hear back from Cassandra for any news. After a long week and undoubtedly more stress to come, he's ready to just relax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever for me to finish. No promises on when the next part will come, what with the holidays around the corner. Cheesy as it is, feedback really does encourage me to actually keep going, so if you want more, _please_ let me know!

    Cullen sat back down at his desk with a more concrete sense of direction. Matters were currently out of his hands until Cassandra got back to him, so he decided to resume his planning while he brought up the files he’d been reviewing before. He fell back into his rhythm with ease. If he had accompaniment, it would be best to go by car. It would allow them a more intimate- no, that wasn’t quite right, he wasn’t about to get ahead of himself - a more _private_ space for them to go over things. There would be a lot of details to discuss if they were to perfect their ruse. He would be less than comfortable going over much of this with a potential audience, even if people tended to keep to themselves on public transit. He wanted their act to be as believable as possible. As believable as something cobbled together over some short talks and a car ride could be.

    He trusted Cassandra would do her best, but Cullen also knew he had to prepare himself for what would happen if she _wasn’t_ able to find someone who would work for this. Having his only hopes riding on one person’s search, even if that person was Cassandra, wasn’t the best strategy. While he hated to think about it, his best back up was likely her plan to say they broke up. It would save him face with his family, even if he would have to suffer their unnecessary sympathies and their walking on eggshells the whole visit. He had dealt with enough of that in the past year and a half. He resolved to start mentally preparing for that if her search turned up nothing in the next couple days.

    The thought briefly crossed his mind that he had essentially asked Cassandra to play matchmaker. He got a little chuckle out of that.

    Trying to imagine her dressed like some Cupid-like cherubim elicited more than just a quiet chortle. Cullen bent over his keyboard, covering his mouth with one hand, having snorted quite loudly at the mental image. He could feel the confused looks of some of his coworkers directed at the back of his head. Perhaps it would be the next hot gossip around the office. _‘Looks like Rutherford has a sense of humor,’_ they’d whisper to each other by the coffee maker.

    That was unfair. He was the one who stayed so closed-off and formal, after all, and it was a bit inflated to think they might actually take a moment to talk about someone with as little presence here as him. But humor, however dark it might be, was good at times. Helped take the edge off whatever he was feeling. Anxious fear, in this case. More of the usual.

    The thoughts of his family weekend eventually faded into productivity projections and relentless refiling. Eventually the worrying faded to white noise as he went through the motions, practiced and mechanical at this point. Thoroughly examine document, mark errors, send back if below par, send forward if satisfactory. Repeat.

    He was able to stay in this trance-like state until it was just about time to go. Cullen quickly wrapped up his comments on the document he’d been working on, shut down his computer, and made sure he had everything he’d need from his desk. It was Friday, meaning he wouldn’t be back in the building until Monday morning rolled around. Anything left here would stay here, and the first time he forgot his phone charger, Cassandra ended up practically banging his door down at 4 am Sunday morning. It was a little embarrassing to face her, out of breath and clearly on the start of a concerned war path, when he’d just dozed off on his couch watching How It’s Made. It could have been worse, but he still wanted to do all he could to prevent that happening again.

    Satisfied he had all his personal effects, Cullen filed out with the crowd towards the time clock. Some people chatted about their weekend plans while waiting to get to the time clock itself. His ears caught snippets of the different conversations. Someone was going out clubbing, someone was seeing their kids, a small group was making plans to go out drinking tonight. Everyone was eager to get out and get on with the weekend. Cullen’s turn at the time clock rolled up. He had his ID card ready in his hand. Push button, swipe ID, touch confirmation, leave. He checked his phone as he stepped into the elevator, but there were no notifications waiting for him that held any actual importance, just a few automated emails about weekend sales. Mentally he chided himself. It was silly of him to think Cassandra capable of a miracle within a single afternoon.

    He took a second after getting into his car to loosen his necktie, a small ritual he did to remind himself to relax a little. He rolled his shoulders, moving the muscles of his back and loosening up some of the stiff tension he carried through the day. Cullen wasn’t very good at relaxing, not anymore, but he at least tried. After adjusting the rear-view mirror he’d accidentally knocked askew this morning, he started the car and made his way out of the parking garage. One more tap of his ID, and he was back out on the road towards home.

    His apartment held the same quiet emptiness it always did when he opened the door. In the past, it had been stifling, but he’d grown accustomed to it as of late. There was an odd sort of comfort to how unchanging the place was without him. His mug was still sitting on the coffee table where he’d left it this morning. He looked around for the TV remote, and found it within the folds of the blanket strewn haphazardly across the couch. He put on the evening news, hooked his pinky and ring fingers around the mug’s handle, and headed for the kitchen sink. It had been a few days since he’d washed anything – there was some sauce on a plate from Tuesday’s dinner – but at least the sink wasn’t overflowing, or actively being circled by hungry flies. So it really wasn’t even that bad.

    Cullen unbuttoned his sleeves, rolling the cuffs up to above his elbow, before grabbing his sponge and getting to work. He only half listened to the news, mostly because it was hard to hear over the running tap, and he didn’t feel like drying off his hands just to go turn it up. He did manage to hear something about a penguin at the aquarium a couple cities over getting a fish cake and a party for its birthday, which was nice. He placed the last mug in his dish rack, dried off his hands, and went to change.

    It wasn’t late enough for pajamas, but Cullen really saw no point in wearing anything half-decent after work if he had no plans to _go_ anywhere. For times like this, he had a couple pairs of sweatpants and some old t-shirts set aside. He set to unbuttoning his shirt first, making sure to unroll his sleeves before tossing it at his hamper. His belt came off quickly, and he tossed his slacks at his bed while he rummaged about for his lazy clothes. (The slacks could be hung and worn again sometime next week, they were perfectly fine.)  He found one of the shirts, the white one, sitting at the bottom of his closet, for…some reason or another. The hunt for sweatpants was cut short, though, when he heard muffled music behind him.

    Not just music, no. Cassandra’s ringtone. His phone was still in his slacks.

    Cassandra didn’t usually call him this soon after they were done work. Which meant this was an emergency, or it was about the issue of his temporary partner. And either warranted his immediate attention. Cullen turned and lunged for his bed, swearing as he tried to pull the phone out of his twisted cavern of a pocket. Grateful the call hadn’t yet routed her to his voicemail, he answered, clearing his throat.

    “Cassandra! Is everything alright?” He asked, hoping for more reasons than one that the reason she was calling wasn’t the former.

    “Yes, everything is fine.” Her tone was warm; she appreciated him asking. It switched back to her regular cadence after, though. “I was calling about the predicament you’ve practically wedded yourself into.”

    “Well, I wouldn’t go that far, I’ve only said I’m dating.” He quipped. Cassandra groaned on the other end, likely rolling her eyes.

    “You know exactly what I mean, Cullen.” She wasn’t truly scolding him, though, they both knew that. “But you will be happy to know I have made progress in finding you a temporary date.”

    He knew he could count on Cassandra. She had a knack for pulling through for him on tasks that seemed nearly impossible. Cullen gave a short, silent prayer in thanks for this good fortune. “I am extremely grateful, Cassandra. You know I owe you.”

    Cassandra snorted. “Yes, well, believe you me, I will collect on that one day!” She chuckled. “Of course, it is up to your judgement, so I think it best you meet her in person. Are you available for lunch tomorrow? Say, twelve-thirty?”

     “Twelve-thirty?” He repeated. His only plans for tomorrow were to pick up some dry-cleaning and do some grocery shopping. He could definitely fit a lunch in. “Absolutely, that shouldn’t be a problem. Where should I meet you?”

    “Hmm. How about the Arpeggio Café on Grove?” She proposed. “It is not terribly far, and they have a rather decent variety of food items.” Cullen knew vaguely where it was, but he didn’t think he’d ever stopped in there. He’d just have to remember which of the twenty or so restaurants on Grove Boulevard it was.

    “Alright. Sounds good. I shall meet you promptly at twelve-thirty, then,” he agreed.

    “Good. I shall see you then. Goodbye.”

    “Cassandra?” He called after her, hoping she’d hear him before she hung up. There was a slight shuffle on the other end as she likely put the phone back to her ear.

    “Yes?”

    He took a deep breath. “Thank you. For all of your help in this.” He felt like he couldn’t say it enough. It seemed like she was always the one helping him out.

    “You are welcome, Cullen.” Her reply was gentle, genuine. “Call me if anything changes.”

    He nodded. “Of course.”

    “Have a good night, Cullen.”

    “You too.” His phone beeped once as the call ended. He stood back up, stretching and groaning as regular blood flow resumed below his knees. As he lowered down from the balls of his feet, he noticed a grey lump in the corner by his nightstand that looked suspiciously like his sweatpants. He walked over, smoothly snatched them up, and put them on.

    Dinner was some leftover take-out still in the fridge, heated up and paired with a mug of ginger tea. He was generally more of a coffee person, but he’d switched to tea in the evenings lately, since he no longer _wanted_ to be awake all night. Plus the ginger was still bitter, and it was good for his stomach. He pondered on what he wanted to watch with dinner that night as he walked to the living room, completely ignoring the dining table right outside his kitchen. He set his food down as he leaned back into the cushions of his couch, thumbing through his options with the remote. He’d plan out what he was going to wear for the meeting later, before he went to bed. Right now, he just wanted to eat something and relax.

    It was about eleven when Cullen finally turned the TV off. He shuffled back towards his bedroom, scratching his lower back and letting out a yawn that stretched his mouth as far open as it could go. He squinted at his closet through bleary, tired eyes. He really didn’t want to figure out what he would wear for this lunch, not right now. He was tired and the thought of it made him irritable. His alarm was scheduled to go off at six-thirty, that was plenty of time to figure out an outfit before he had to go to lunch.

    Cullen fished his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants, placing it on his nightstand. He was, quite honestly, tempted to go to bed as he was, but he forced himself to change into his pajamas before throwing himself into bed. Cullen wrapped both arms around his pillow, settling his head down on the cool fabric of the pillowcase. He closed his eyes, consciously slowed his breathing, and tried not to think about the possibility of all this crumbling down around him.


End file.
